Too Much
by Comicbookfan
Summary: Rachel gets a nasty surprise one day after school. Or: In which Rachel is concerned, and Kurt drinks too much vodka.


**A Matter of Want and Need**

_Warnings: Underage drinking, alcoholism_**  
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Rachel and Kurt are by no means friends. This is despite the fact that, in the beginning, they tried to be, a little, tried to bond over being social outcasts and liking to sing for the sake of the club, but in the end even their best efforts couldn't stop the future and what would happen to their relationship. Namely, that it would be ruined by disgust and being a teenager before it began. Besides, they just don't fit together.

She's a little intimidated by him. He's very intelligent-she knows this because of what little she has heard of his grades, which all seem to be straight A's, and his vocabulary, which is almost as wide and varied as her own. His sense of humor is dry and cutting, just as his everyday voice and words are. He is good at emotions, can almost keep them off of his face entirely. Rachel finds that this is something she can't help but admire just a little, and he does have a very nice, not to mention rare voice, even though she is obviously more talented and is able to make emotions far more easily than he is when singing.

But the main thing that kind of intimidates her about Kurt is that he's never been nice to her. Perhaps she's never been totally wonderful to him either, but he can't seem to resist making some sort of caustic and often hurtful comment at everything she does or says or wears. Really, it's very unprofessional, though she can't really complain about it because it's always a short comment and then he ignores her.

So, really, maybe she doesn't quite see the boy as a human being, more as a sarcastic, sharp robot. It's easier that way, because Kurt and Rachel are by no means friends.

One day, Rachel's walking home in a leisurely manner after practicing in the auditorium for an hour and a half, and everybody is gone. She's feeling very pleased with her voice, and is ready to go home and have a cold drink. She's passing the abandoned girl's bathroom in the least inhabited hallway even during the school year when she hears retching and a softer but unmistakable sound of tears. She wonders if she should go inside, because she doesn't even know who this person is and, after all, she is one of the most unpopular girls in the school, she must admit.

However, she has a feeling that it might be a good idea to go inside, and decides to follow her instincts. She has always been a little psychic, and at worst, she can just run away with some knowledge she can use someday for a role on some incredibly famous Broadway show when she's a star.

So, decided, she walks inside the bathroom. And stops. And stares.

Because it isn't some unfortunate but already screwed up person, like Tina or maybe even Quinn. It's Kurt inside the bathroom, and he looks horrible.

"Kurt?" Rachel whispers, her voice for once quiet. "Oh my God."

His hair is mussed and some falls over his face. His clothes are wrinkled and his shoes seem to have been kicked off, as they now inhabit the other side of the bathroom, and his royal purple suit-coat now is half in the sink, hopelessly wrinkled and pathetic. The fine cloth of his black button-up shirt has been compromised, now rolled up to his elbows. His head is down between his knees, and he seems to not register anybody else being there. The bathroom air is permeated with the scent of vomit and alcohol.

"Kurt," Rachel whispers, two and two coming together in her head as she frantically grabs his leg and shakes it. "Are you _drunk?_" The last word comes out in a scandalized whisper.

He finally acknowledges her. "Nice observation." He picks his head up with what seems to be honest effort and looks at her, sighing. His face is covered in tear streaks, even though his sobbing fit has passed. His eyes, which are usually clear and seem to pick up everything that's happening are now bloodshot, and it pains Rachel to realize he's looking at her through a haze of alcohol.

She narrows her eyes and searches for the bottle of the drink that she can't seem to find, and then quickly notices his large and almost empty water bottle, and snatches it quickly as he reaches for it, unscrewing the top and smelling the liquid. Vodka.

Still on her hands and knees, she crawls to the bathroom stall that she realizes he threw up in, and wrinkling her nose she pours all of the stuff into the toilet and flushes it.

Kurt only watches with apathy when she crawls out of the stall and settles down in front of him.

"I us'lly don't do this at school, but Finn and Carole over so much, can't find time." He barely makes sense as his words pour out a slurred mess.

"You shouldn't be in the business of finding time to drink. You do realize how dangerous and unintelligent this is, right?"

"Spare me the lecture, I know fine." A shudder runs through his body and he throws back his head, letting it come into contact with the dingy wall he's leaning against.

"Kurt!" Rachel says, grabbing his hand as if that helps in any way.

"I can't feel it."

"Well, you certainly will feel it, especially tomorrow."

He chuckles shortly. "Gonna have a hell of a hangover."

"You are." They sit together for a while, Kurt hanging his head again as if it's too heavy to hold up, and Rachel just staring at him.

_Liquid courage, they call alcohol, _she thinks, and it does make sense. Kurt's the strongest and most put together member of glee club, and Rachel has never seen him like this, doesn't think anybody's seen him like this except for the disastrous and much laughed-about incident when April was around earlier in the year, where he threw up on Ms. Pillbury's shoes. But she, and everybody else around her, thought that was just one isolated incident, one moment of weakness in a life that has certainly been devoid of it.

Rachel understands now. Kurt's smart. Maybe he liked the way the alcohol felt once it went down, and realized that he could drink it, just not enough for anybody to find out. He must have slipped today, she realizes.

Her hand has slackened from her earlier death grip, but he still holds it as if it is an anchor to the world.

"How long have you been doing this?"

"A while. Since April." She doesn't know if it's the month or the person, but has a good idea of it.

"Why?"

"Why should you have to know?" He suddenly shouts, voice slurring pitifully. "Just leave me alone."

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" She makes her voice firmer, like she would were she babysitting a very stubborn five or six year old.

"Because it helps me not think. That's my problem, Rachel, I think too much. I need to control things better, this helps me-nothing's real with this."

"You aren't making sense. This isn't going to give you the sense of control you so desperately crave, Kurt, trust me. It doesn't seem to be working right now. You don't feel good right now, do you?"

"No, but mosta time...Well, it feels good to me, mostly, 'kay? Feels good to me, makes me feel numb so I don' haveta think 'bout what's happening. I need an outlet, this is read'ly avail'ble."

"You do realize this will do little but destroy you, right?"

"Yeah, but it feels good now. I need it."

"Kurt, do you really want to be an alcoholic this early on? You're sixteen, you have a life ahead of you."

"No. I can't stop, okay? It makes things better. It's addictive."

"I know it's addictive, it's alcohol! But you'll just dig yourself a deeper hole if you keep drinking."

"Don't preach to me. This isn't Health class." He sighs and slumps over, exhausted, and a tear trickles down his cheek. "'Sides, I know you're right."

That's the first time he's ever said something like that to her, and she wonders if he'll still agree when he's lucid and feels the need for a drink.

"It usually feels bett'r than this, Rachel. Now it's just making me feel sick. But it isn't like this most of the time, most of the time it's good, you have to get it. This makes me feel good, better than when I'm without it. I need it, you don' get it, I _need _it." Kurt clutches her hand so hard it hurts, and she suddenly wants to cry because he's so desperate for her approval.

"No, it's not going to be good in the long run."

He shakes violently, and succumbs again to a drunken sobbing fit, hands fisted tightly in his hair, covering his eyes. Quietly, Rachel untangles her hand from his and hugs him, even though he barely seems to feel it at all.

Tears threaten to spill from her eyes, but she manages to quell them, because she needs to be strong now, and it's a strange feeling. She feels him shake against him and holds him tighter, afraid he'll hurt himself. Eventually, she'll have to tell somebody, Ms. Pillsbury or Mr. Schuester, somebody.

But right now she just stays with him. It's all she can do, and for the time being, she thinks it's enough. "I'll help you," she whispers, and doesn't think he hears it, but at least she takes it to heart, and that's what matters in the end.


End file.
